Smoke and Mirrors (DE)

68. So gone over u

Joseph tugged at his beard hair roughly as he stared out of the jet window, watching the small luxury aircraft descend. He hadn't been back to Cuba since he'd been shot— but he had business to handle. The hour and a half plane ride to Cuba from Miami was painful, all he could think about was the terror in Graces voice begging him not to leave. His stomach was in knots thinking about what she was at home doing— probably worried sick with crippling anxiety, and Joseph was the only person to blame.

He knew he was no good for Grace, from the very beginning, from their very first kiss— but he just had to have her. Grace was just too tempting, too alluring— he couldn't stay away no matter how hard he fought himself. But then again, he never knew things would be this way, his wildest dreams didn't even consist of getting married or becoming a father, but yet here he is— both a husband and father to a precious little girl.

Joseph felt as though he were in an adulterous affair with the streets— sneaking off from his wife in the middle of the night to see the woman he'd had a toxic off and on relationship with since the tender age of fourteen.

Fidel waited on the landing strip for Joseph's arrival, standing outside the black SUV clad in a black suit with his hands clasped in front of him. Joseph was driven to a rundown shack in the thick underbrush of the Cuban forest. Tree branches and rocks crackled under the tires of the SUV, as it crawled slowly on an unpaved trail; the only source of light in the pitch black forest coming from the headlights.

The air was thick, muggy and humid. Joseph scrunched up his face swatting at random flying critters as he got out of the car, closing the door behind him and following Fidel into the rundown shack. Fidel opened the creaky door allowing Joseph to go in first, the inside of the shack even hotter than outside and smelled of human deification.

Don sat tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room with a potato sack over his head, his shirt drenched in sweat and his skin dewy and sticky. A gas lamp sat on the ground in the corner providing just enough light to see in the single room shack.

Joseph pulled the potato sack off Don's head roughly, yanking some of his thick curls with it. Don squinted his eyes as he looked up at Joseph— a smug look on his face.

Joseph let out a small chuckle as he looked at Don, shaking his head. "You still tryna act tough,"

"What do you think my pops will do when he finds out you killed me— you gone be next," Don threatened justly.

Joseph cracked a small smile. "You didn't hear? Your dad put out the contract on you,"

Don's smug grin instantly began to dissipate.
Joseph pulled a burner phone, a hunting knife, and a pair of black latex gloves from his hoodie pocket, tossing the phone to Fidel. "Record this," He said simply, putting the gloves on his hands and uncasing the razor sharp hunting knife.

Joseph grabbed Don by the chin roughly. "You know what time it is— open your mouth,"

Don stared at Joseph for a moment before spitting in Joseph's face. "Fuck you," He hissed.

Joseph let out a small chuckle, wiping his face with the back of his hand that was holding the knife as his adrenaline began to rush and his body began going numb— checking out mentally.

He grabbed Don's face again, only this time applying pressure to the joints in Don's mandible until he had no choice but to open his mouth in pain. Joseph reached into his mouth with his other hand and grabbed his dehydrated tongue, forcefully yanking it out of his mouth and holding it tightly before looking at Fidel to make sure he was recording.

Don's eyes widened in panic as he began squirming in his chair and groaning loudly. Without hesitation, Joseph sliced through his tongue like a tender piece of meat, severing it cleanly and holding the bloody organ in the palm of his gloved hand for the camera to see as Don groaned in agony in the background— unable to speak because the cat got the rats tongue.